Angel Set Free
by TheRoseThatKnowsPain
Summary: That was Maka. Only Maka; purely Maka. Nobody else could be like her, nobody else will be like her. They couldn't be, because Maka is an angel. But angels always return to Heaven, and Maka has finally returned to Heaven. Soul knows that, he'd enabled her to go there. Character Death.


___This story was uploaded on the 1st of January along with 4 other stories to be considered New Year's presents, to give thasnks to my few followers and reviewers who have kept me in high spirits about writing. Thank you all for your support and any sort of encouragement you gave/give to me on my long journey as a writer._

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_Her lively eyes. Her plump mouth. Her shining hair. Her high-held chin. Her graceful neck. Her humble chest. Her slim waist. Her long legs. Her swift feet._

Everything was Maka. That was all Maka, and no one else. That was Maka and he knew it because he knew best.

_Her cheerful laugh. Her serious demeanor. Her otherworldly courage. Her unique intuition. Her unexpected shyness. Her seldom peace. Her insisting determination._

It was all Maka. No one else would or could be able to be like her (never should, because no one could even come near to what she was), she is unique, she is one of a kind, she is… Maka. She's just Maka, but at the same time, she's _more _than Maka, she's _so much more_. But she never sees it, but that's alright, because that' just another thing that defines Maka.

_Her soul-shattering tears. Her blood-cooling screams. Her ever-haunting blood. Her squished fear. Her subtle breaking. Her obvious avoiding._

"_Soul, I think I'm going to die."_

"_What? Maka, everything's cool, we're beating major ass," _he hates himself for not listening to her, for not trusting her intuition that was more right than not.

"_Soul, if I die here, do you think I'll go to Heaven?" _Of course she would, she is an angel, and angels always go to Heaven.

"_With your temper, I doubt it." _He hates himself for teasing her, for not telling her that she is an angel, that angels _always _go to Heaven.

_She smiles at his words, knowing what he meant behind those words, he just couldn't say it outright. _Like she always could.

_Her precise slicing. Her brutal slashing. Her swift jumping. Her fast running. Her silent killing. Her elegant moves._

It was all Maka, no one else was like Maka. And if it wasn't Maka that was by his side, he didn't want anyone by his side. Because she was _Maka_, and he would do anything for _Maka_, and no one else but _Maka_.

The heart monitor kept beeping a steady rhythm as he sat on the uncomfortable white plastic chair, not caring that it was sunny outside and that the birds were singing; not caring about hunger or thirst; not caring about anything except for Maka, because Maka was Maka, and no one else.

There would never be someone like Maka. Never again. There will never be another Maka, because Maka was unique.

Three hundred and sixty five days have passed since that horrible memory. He wishes it were a nightmare – although, he already has nightmares, and the back of his mind is whispering that nightmares can't happen within nightmares – that he would wake up; wishes that he could change so many things, wishes he could say so many different things.

But, in the end, it doesn't wake _her_ up.

A distant memory comes up, one he'd buried because he never wanted to think about it, never wanted to believe it, never wanted to even bring it into _consideration_.

"_Soul, if something should ever render me immobile and unable to talk or communicate—"_

"_Maka, don't talk about it, really, just do—"_

"_No, Soul, listen. Just because you don't want to hear it won't make the problem disappear. Soul, I want you to promise me – and that is a promise of a lifetime, Soul – that when I fall into such a state, you'll turn off all necessary machines off to keep me living after one year, do you understand?" _How right she'd been in the end, how right he'd been.

"_Really Maka, don't just think about it. It's really uncool how—"_

"_Promise me, Soul. Promise me you'll let me die after one year. A meister is nothing worth if he or she can't move, can't communicate. Meisters are brutal beings, they have to be in order to do what they're doing, and we have little honor and care little about out appearance because Shinigami is always near us, literally. Being in such a state is the worst thing that could happen to a Meister, and nobody would fault you for turning off the machines because you know it's not uncommon, that it's accepted here. So please Soul, promise me."_

_He never regretted accepting it; not with the way how her eyes shone sadly, not with how desperate she had looked. It hadn't surprised him when, in the end, he had choked out a painful "I promise," to her._

He is unsure at times if the smile had been worth it or not, but he always reminds himself, _everything is worthy enough for Maka._

He saw the machinery that gave her oxygen, the highly needed thing to survive and live in this world. And he saw the plug; hated himself for doing this, but reminded himself again, _this is what Maka wanted, this is what she had asked him to do._

He walked over to her, kissed her on the forehead whispering "It's uncool not to keep promises, and I'm a cool guy, aren't I?" (_He didn't feel cool without Maka, nothing again would be cool without Maka_), and walked over to the plug, gripping it with white knuckles and pulled.

The heart monitor went into a straight line, it's monotone and endless tone ringing loudly in the air, burning his ears.

And the world kept being sunshine and roses, but his world was raining; it would be raining forever now.

_Her pure wings. Her melodious laugh. Her content yet sad face. Her lovely smile. Her saddening tears. Her beautiful, yet simple, soul-music._

It was all Maka, and no one could ever be like Maka. She was unique and no one could copy her. She is an angel, perfect in every way for him. Will forever be perfect to him, had always been perfect to him. But she is an angel, and angel return to heaven.

And Maka finally returned to Heaven.

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**My Religious Education class is right now looking at euthanasia, the 'easy death' as it actually means, when translated literally. And yes, that was sort of the last push I had needed to finish this. I wanted to prolong this a bit, but I just couldn't because then it had seemed ridiculous and this is a serious and saddening thing. I had started this two, three months ago, and I had it finished but there had been something off about the ending, I think I accomplished in making it a bit better.**

**Anyway, hope you liked it. A bit angst-y (or a lot), but my other story has a happy ending **** So, if you don't like this you can look at my other story and decide whether I suck at writing SoMa or not.  
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**Anyway, I hope you liked it. Reviews, please?**


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